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Rescue Me

Rescue Me

My truck in the garage kind of…I couldn’t close the door.

It was a beautiful weekend.  One of the nicer weekends we have had in a long time.

I…had to clean out the garage.

I think I had to clean out the garage this weekend to make up for all the unintentional mean things I have said to my wife over the last twenty years.   I say unintentional because certainly I would never say anything intentionally mean to my wife.

I even had to part with my three level,  four by eight foot metal warehouse rack shelving that I have had in my garages since before we got married.

I was sad.

I took it and two truckloads of stuff…to “the dump.”

In Jersey we always called it “the dump.”

Here it’s actually called the Fairfax County Solid Waste Recycling Center.  That’s a mouthful.

But I should know better.

One Saturday morning a couple of years ago I was asked to open up one of the offices of the company that I worked for at the time, so that a group that we supported could use the space for a meeting.  This was a group of volunteer coaches for a youth sports program in the county.

It was okay with me that I open the office that morning because I had a pick-up truck load of stuff that I needed to take to “the dump” anyway, and this office happened to be close to the Fairfax County Solid Waste Recycling Center.

I opened the office and waited for the meeting to start.  The leader of the group, my contact, offered me the opportunity to speak so I stood up and welcomed them,  said a few words about the company, and in closing I said “now if you will excuse me I need to go to the dump.”

I said thanks, made my exit, and drove to the Fairfax County Solid Waste Recycling Center. Once done I stopped and had a cup of coffee while I waited for the meeting to be over so I could go back and lock up.

When I returned the meeting was over and everyone had left except for my contact who was cleaning up.

I asked how the meeting went and he said, “Great, but one funny thing did happen.”

“What was that?” I asked.

“Well after you left,” he said, “someone spoke up and said,”

Wow that was inappropriate.”

“What do you mean?” he asked the volunteer coach who made the comment.

“Way too much information” said the volunteer, “telling us he was going to go now and take a dump.”

So my contact had to explain that I didn’t say I was going to “go take a dump,” in fact what I had said was that I was going to go to “the dump,” the refuse center.

So we laughed, but I was little embarrassed.

I guess sometimes we say things we don’t really mean.  And sometimes people hear things we didn’t really say; or sometimes people hear what we say but take it to mean something very different.

Something unintentional.

And so sometimes we end up embarrassed…or sometimes we end up having to clean the garage.

But in the end it all worked out.  I don’t work for that company anymore; and my wife is really excited that she may be able to put her car in the garage this winter.

Life is good.

But you might be saying right now, “Geez Curt, this is inappropriate, this is way too much information.”

Maybe, but it’s not about crude bathroom humor or cleaning out the garage.

One of the prayers at church this morning had this opening line:

“Lord, please rescue me…from me.”

Since there are times when we do say things that are inappropriate; and there are times when we do say things that are embarrassing; and then there are also times when we say things or behave in certain ways intentionally that may be hurtful to others, even though we didn’t mean them to be.

Sometimes we just need rescued, rescued from ourselves.

 

 

 

The Kid, The Donald, and Two Guys Named Benny from Jersey

The Kid, The Donald, and Two Guys Named Benny from Jersey

Kid Rock

Last week I read on the internet that Kid Rock had died.  He was killed in a fire that officials thought was caused by a meth lab.  Kid Rock killed in a fire making methamphetamine.

“Kim,” I yelled, Kid Rock died, he was killed making methamphetamine.  And we just saw him on the CMA awards.”

Unbelievable.

Last night I was sitting in bed on the internet again and I read that Kid Rock was running for the Senate in the state of Michigan.

How about that?  Last week he was killed in a fire and this week he is running for the Senate.  Not only that but he was planning a tour to promote his candidacy.

Unbelievable.

I read last year that Donald Trump was running for president.

Then I read that he won!

It’s amazing what happens in this land of ours!

 

The biggest thing in the news today is how the Russians influenced my vote.

It had to have been subliminal forces at work:

“Vote Da for the Myshka…”

“Vote Da for the Myshka…”

 

I don’t know, it’s too complicated for someone of my aptitude.

 

And they say Trump Jr. had something to do with this diabolical plot.

 

Agent: “Mr. Trump Jr. please sit down in this chair.”

Trump Jr.: “No, no not the lights…!”

Agent:  “Yes the lights.  Mr. Trump Jr. you met with a Russian attorney in your office?”

Trump Jr.:  “Maybe”

Agent:  “Was there anyone else at that meeting?”

Trump Jr.: “Yes, a Russian operative”

Agent:  “So now you are saying that you met with more than one Russian in your office?”

Trump Jr.: “Well, yes, substantially”

Agent: “How many Mr. Trump Jr.?”

Trump Jr.:  “Ten maybe..?”

Agent:  “Ten Mr. Trump? Seriously why not 15?”

Trump Jr.:  “Because the North Koreans were taking up too much room.”

Agent: “North Koreans?”

Trump Jr.:  “Yeah there weren’t many chairs left.”

Agent:  “Now you are admitting there were North Koreans at the meeting, was there anyone else at the meeting?”

Trump Jr.: “Yes”

Agent: “Who?”

Trump Jr: “Two guys from Jersey.”

Agent: “Two guys from Jersey…where are these two guys from Jersey I want to talk to them?”

(Confronts the two guys from Jersey)

Agent:  “Are you guys from Jersey?”

Guys: “Da”

Agent: “What part of Jersey?”

Guy:“Is Hoboken.”

Agent: “You really want me to believe that you guys are from Hoboken, New Jersey?”

Guy: “Da”

Agent: “Where did you get that accent, you don’t sound like you are from Jersey?”

Guy: “Was once Russian, no more…from Jersey…is Hoboken.”

Agent: “Okay so what’s your name?”

Guy: “Benny”

Agent:  “Benny? That’s original, what’s his name (other guy)?”

Guy:  “Is Benny too”

Agent:  “Okay, so Mr. Trump Jr. you are saying you met in your office with ten Russians, five North Koreans, and two guys named Benny from Jersey…was there anyone else? (Turns up the lights)

Trump Jr:  “Okay, okay I will tell you but just turn off the lights!”

Agent:  “Who Mr. Trump Jr, who?”

Trump Jr.: “Boris and Natasha”

Agent:  “Boris and Natasha?  Seriously, was Rocky and Bullwinkle there too?”

Trump Jr.:  “C’mon now don’t be silly, Rocky and Bullwinkle were not there that’s ridiculous!”

 

Unbelievable stuff right?  And so sinister.

 

But it’s crazy:

Kid Rock dies in a meth fire!

Donald Trump runs for President!

Kid Rock runs for the Senate!

Hillary involved in Pizzagate!

Donald Trump becomes President!

Russians influencing me to vote for Mickey Mouse!

 

I need a break, I think I will go sit down on the couch.

 

Me:  “Alexa, I am so sick of politics…let me hear something from Bruce Springsteen.”

Alexa:  “I thought you said were sick of hearing about politics?”

Me:  “Okay, okay, how about Over the Rainbow?”

Alexa:  “Whatsa matter your arms broke?  What do I look like a Juke Box?  Does my shirt say DJ Jazzie Jeff on it?”

 

Alright I was just messing with you again, you can’t believe everything you read on the internet you know…

Somewhere over the rainbow way up high
There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

 

They do I guess, that’s nice…now where was that post that had John Kasich winning…?

Life is Good

Life is Good

It’s Sunday.

The morning started off “classic Christiansen.”

I was in the bathroom.  My hand knocked the toilet paper roll off its perch on the antique iron carriage step mounted on the wall.

Panic began to set in as I watched it roll across the floor to the other side of the bathroom.

Out of reach…

Great, I thought, it’s going to be one of those days.

 

Church was good.  The service was called “What is In Your Hand,” a reference to the staff a reluctant Moses was holding when God spoke to him at the burning bush and pressed Moses into service to lead His people out of Egypt.  For this morning however, the message was directed at our calling and those of us listening being pressed into service with mission work that our church was involved in.  It was a good message, but as I listened I had to acknowledge to myself there have been times in my church life I was much better at participating.  Sometimes life gets in the way even with church and helping others.  I decided there would be a time when would get better at this again.

After church it was time to get some physical activity in.  Yesterday (Saturday) at Cameron’s urging he and I went for a three mile run/walk.  He was tough and hard on the old man (me).   We vowed we would take on a 5K together in the Spring when the weather got better.  But in the mean time we would train.

Don’t bother us, we are in training!

So on Sunday after church, we went out again, this time taking Kim.  It was a great bonding time on both days and I am looking forward to that Spring 5K.

It was a Steelers weekend as well.

Savannah and Kim spent the better part of Saturday making halupki (aka stuffed cabbage or aka in Western Pennsylvania, Pigs in a Blanket) and pierogis, a ravioli kind of thing,  but this one is stuffed with mashed potatoes.    At the end of the afternoon, by my estimate, we had enough halupki and pierogies to feed the population of Pittsburgh on a game day.

But now on Sunday, with the Steelers game moved to an 8:20 pm start, we had some time to kill.  We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at old photos including some of past playoff game get-togethers;   some new photos; writing a little; and eating a lot as we half paid attention to the Packers as they beat the Cowboys.

 

 

Our newest grandchild!

One of those new photos was one sent by Alexa.  It was one of those ultrasound photos of my newest grandson or granddaughter, since I don’t know yet whether it’s a boy or a girl.

I am always amazed by these images.

I messaged Alexa to ask,  how many weeks this wonderful little baby was?

Twelve, she texted back.

Wow  I thought, twelve weeks…unbelievable…as I got a little winkage.

 

Now getting later, we put Cameron to bed with our usual ritual and I went in to his room to say goodnight to him.  I rubbed his back,  said goodnight and he said to me:

“I had a nice weekend Pop Pop.”

“Me too buddy,” I replied,  “me too.”

More winkage.

Then, as I have done the last two weekends, I put on my new Antonio Brown jersey that my wife bought me and settled down to watch the game, nervously eating my Utz pretzels one after another (like I needed more food).

Late into the night I watched.

And in the end, once again, my new AB jersey came through with another win.

The Steelers are three for three with me in my new jersey, I thought as I put my halupki laden, pierogie bulging belly to bed finally.

Like Cameron said, it was a nice weekend.

And it just goes to show you.

Even on a day that starts with your toilet paper roll leaving you stranded,

Life…is good.

Yup!
The Great South Florida French Bread Incident

The Great South Florida French Bread Incident

french bread one

By definition, a French Bread is a yeast-raised bread distinguished by its thick, well-browned crust, made in long, slender, tapered loaves.

I am a huge French bread fan.

HUGE!

But let’s get to the story.

It was early April.  I don’t remember which day exactly; it’s all a blur now.

Kim and I were visiting my daughter and son in law in South Florida and spending some time with our newest grandson.  One afternoon, I was preparing dinner and needed to go to the grocery store.   It was a Publix, a grocery store chain prevalent in South Florida.  I picked up what I needed for the dinner I was planning, and then I found a French bread.  Not a perfect one I thought, but not bad either.

I placed my French bread in the seat of the shopping cart like I would have done if it was my infant grandson Christian; very carefully and safe and sound away from the other items.

So now having completed my shopping I went to the check out.  I put all my groceries on the belt saving my French bread for last.  Now safely behind the other groceries, I put the little divider out so that the customer behind me wouldn’t encroach on my bread.

The nice young lady scanned and bagged all of my groceries.

Then she got to my French bread.

I watched.

She picked it up from the middle as I would have wanted her to do, so the weight would be distributed evenly.

She scanned my bread.

Then, she very calmly grabbed it with two hands, one on each end, snapped it in half and shoved it in the bag with some other groceries.

I felt the blood draining from my skin as my face got pale.  I think my bottom lip began to quiver as I stared trying to make sense of what had just happened.

I was speechless.  I didn’t know what to do!

Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, she calmly asked me to swipe my card, which momentarily jarred me out of my shock and I fumbled around to find my debit card, now just reacting to commands without thinking.

Shock gripped me…was this a South Florida thing I thought?

Should I just act cool like I knew that every check out person in South Florida snaps their customer’s French breads in half to be able to fit them in the bag?

I come from a part of Jersey where snapping someone’s French bread or Italian bread in half could have dire circumstances.

Still dazed and confused I took my receipt and my bags, including my broken baguette, and went back to my daughter’s home to tell them the story of the girl who folded up my French bread and put it in the bag.

 

I waited to share The Great South Florida French Bread Incident because I thought that one day I would understand; one day it would have some meaning, some moral to a story that would serve as a metaphor for one of life’s indignancies.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I knew the moral of the story already.

The moral of the story is… hey South Florida; don’t be snapping people’s French breads!

If I had bought a bouquet of long stem roses for my wife from the floral section would the stems have been snapped in half and the roses shoved in a bag?

What if I got one of those long family size packages of chicken thighs, would she have busted them up so they wouldn’t poke out the top?

I don’t think so!

Why then did she disrespect my French bread?  If I had wanted my bread in smaller pieces I would have bought the bag of dinner rolls instead!  I want my French bread as a long, slender, tapered loaf like the definition says!

Maybe there is a message here.  Maybe it is about respect.  Respecting those things that are important to others or that belong to others.

It’s like going out day after day to find that your neighbor’s dog has peed on the plastic bag that contains your Washington Post as it rests on the sidewalk (me).

Or coming home and finding teenagers you don’t even know sitting around your patio smoking cigarettes and helping themselves to your cooler (yup, my patio).

 

Yes, I think it is about respect.

Surely, that is the moral of The Great South Florida French Bread Incident!

And I also think that there might be times when we just need a reason to laugh little again.